The show must go on
by DoodleMasterX
Summary: This is a story about Max and the flock, only Max POV , around five years after 'FANG'. Please help me improve, REVIEW! Rated T just to be safe : Contains no really bad language, some injuries and fight scenes, MAJOR heartbreak and some mind-control.


Being heartbroken has it's ups and downs.

For example, there's the way you feel like nothing could ever hurt or affect you anymore. You've already hit rock bottom, right? It can't get any worse.

There's also the fear of dying that just evaporated. Seriously, I'm not tying to sound like a suicidal whelp. Dying just didn't seem to awful anymore. Heck, the only reason I hadn't thrown my life away in a reckless, final attempt to save the world was that I knew the flock needed me. Oh and the small matter that a bunch of people had already made it clear that if I died, the rest of the world packs it with me.

Now we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?

But the most useful thing that came with a shattered heart was that I couldn't feel pain.

Not literally, of course. I hadn't suddenly become one of those freaky people you see on television falling off cliffs and getting stabbed without feeling a thing. Obviously I didn't have any problems with falling off cliffs – as a matter of fact that was one of my favorite things to do - (once again no suicidal reference intended), and I generally didn't give people the opportunity to stab me before I whipped around and beat them to a bloody pulp, hopefully breaking a couple of bones.

No, I felt pain all right. It just wasn't what I'd call an uncomfortable feeling. I craved pain, of the physical kind, in all forms. Each bruise and wound was a small jolt of awareness that helped me cling on to reality and provided a welcome distraction from my numb thoughts.

I assessed my body quickly and effectively as I donkey-kicked the slimy thing behind me. My lips were split in many places, and it hurt to move them. My knuckles were raw and bleeding from throwing so many punches. Nevertheless, I smacked both fists against the creepy lizard in front of me's face, feeling a jolt at my elbow as he crumpled to the ground. _Definitely sprained,_ I thought with dull satisfaction. Every inch of my skin was cover in nasty looking bruises that would definitely hurt for a while. One headbutted lizard later, I also had a cut above my left eyebrow. I definitely wasn't in any danger of daydreaming this instant.

I stepped over the little pile of dead lizard bodies around me, wrinkling my nose. What ad 'Dr Death' called them again? Ah yes, SVs, short from 'sluwheid vernieler', which was supposed to mean 'cunning destroyer' or something like that. They just looked like huge, mutated lizards to me. Extremely slimy huge mutated lizards at that.

I glanced around the parking lot to check on the kids. Dylan was tending to a nasty looking cut on Nudge's calf. She caught my worried look and smiled reassuringly at me. "It's nothing!" she mouthed. I nodded at her. Iggy and the Gasman had trapped the remaining SVs into a minivan and were performing what looked suspiciously like a sacrificial tribal dance around it. Those two would never grow up.

Angel was kneeling next to an SV that was curled up into a fetal position, swaying backwards and forwards and sobbing openly.

"I've been such a bad bad person!" He wailed. "You're right, I deserve to die! Tke me!ü Make me hurt!"

God, Angel was getting creepier by the day.

I walked over to her, eyebrows raised.

"He's not a threat anymore." she said confidently, her blue eyes wide and sincere.

"Are you sure?" I asked, doubtful. Despite Angel's obvious repentance, and the fact that she hadn't tried to take over the world in at least five years, I still had trouble trusting her.

"Yes I'm sure, Max. You _can _trust me, you know. I've changed."

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But I'd been having trouble trusting anyone since – the _incident_, let alone as appearance-changing, mind-controlling, angel-faced megalomaniac with a history of back-stabbing and treachery.

So I just nodded and turned around to go see what exactly the boys were doing.

"You can't keep running away, you know. How can you get better if you don't let anyone help you? You can trust us. Actually, you'll find there a a lot of people you can trust. Sure, we've all grown some, but we stick together. None of us are planning in deserting. You're not alone Max. You never will be."

I kept walking away, holding my chin high and pretending that her words didn't feel like a thousand swords being thrust through my body. I may not have had any problems with physical pain, but I was a slave to the emotional kind. And right now I was in agony.

"Max," she whispered, only inside my head this time, "We're not all Fang."

I froze. I knew what she was saying was true, but I couldn't admit it to myself. I felt like all my blood simultaneously rushed down to my feet and flooded my face. My ears started ringing, and a sharp twist slit through the empty hole where my heart should have been. The mere thought of his name was threatening to knock over the walls I had carefully erected around all memories and thoughts that I knew would make me suffer. My mind scrabbled desperately for something to distract me. I bit my lip, _hard. _Pain seared through me as my teeth sunk into my already damaged flesh. I focused on the pain.

"Alright everybody, up and away!!" I shouted. It was a mark of how much practise I'd had that I managed to make my voice sound strong and authorative. Not like my soul, which was crumbling into a million pieces.

I didn't wait to see if they followed me - I launched myself into the air and sped upwards. I wanted to scream out loud. I wanted to tear someone – preferably myself – into freaking confetti. But I knew I couldn't show what I was feeling to the flock, so I powered up high, gulping down air like it was chocolate-chip cookie dough.


End file.
